


The History of Us: The Awakening

by Daisy Gamgee (DaisyGamgee)



Series: The History of Us [5]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 01:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyGamgee/pseuds/Daisy%20Gamgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is slashfic: No sex, but discussion of homosexual relationships and some smoochin'.</p>
<p>We all know by now that Merry and Pippin are headed for the "great romance" I mentioned in Part One, yes? Well, our heroes don't know that yet, although Pippin suspects.</p>
<p>Pippin is 14, Merry is 22, Sam is 24, and Frodo is 36.</p>
<p>I've debated whether to mark this "underage," but it isn't, really. The age difference between our principals may squick some, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The History of Us: The Awakening

"The History of Us, Part Five: The Awakening"  
By Daisy Gamgee

"Merry."

"Mmmph. What?" He rolled over and opened one eye, which helped not at all. The bedroom was in the right-hand tunnel of Bag End, well under the hill, no window and dark as a cave, and the candle had long ago been extinguished. He struggled against the weight of heavy sleep on his limbs and propped himself on his elbows. "Pip? Is something wrong?"

The mattress was pressed down next to him. "I was lonely and it's storming and it's too dark." Pippin's voice was a close whisper.

Merry plopped back onto his pillows. "Come on, then."

Pippin crawled under the covers and snuggled against Merry, who slipped an arm around Pippin's shoulders. Pippin laid his head on Merry's chest and wiggled a bit to settle in. Merry grunted with the weight, remembering when Pippin was no bigger than a piglet and fit right under his arm just so. Now Pippin took up nearly half the bed, and Merry had to wiggle as well to get comfortable.

"You don't think Sam tried to go home, do you, Merry? He's not in his bed." Pippin drowsily rubbed his nose. "The storm's so bad it's rattling the windows something awful."

"I thought I heard thunder," Merry said with a yawn. "Strange for a snowstorm." He patted Pippin's head reassuringly. "Frodo wouldn't let Sam go home in this. We're all safe enough here."

"I'll bet we're snowed in," Pippin said with a mix of fear and anticipation. "I hope Frodo has enough food!"

"I'm sure he does," Merry murmured, and yawned again, so wide his jaw hurt. "Sleep, Pip."

"All right," Pippin said, and closed his eyes. "You smell good."

"Mmmph," Merry answered, then snored gently.

Pippin pulled the blankets snug around them, making a warm nest, and fell asleep to Merry's steady rumble beneath his ear.

** **

Merry awoke to warm dampness on his belly. Pippin had curled himself onto his side facing Merry, cuddled into his warmth, and still slept heavily, hair sweaty and legs tangled with Merry's. "Botheration," Merry muttered. "If you've wet my bed, Pippin Took, I'll…" He moved the blankets and his hand brushed the sticky fluid on his skin. "Ah, no," he groaned, and reached to the nightstand for his handkerchief. There wasn't much, and it wiped off easily; he dropped the soiled cloth to the floor and shoved Pippin over to rest on his own pillows.

It wasn't the first time Pippin had had one of those dreams in the same bed with Merry, and Merry knew from his own experience that there wasn't anything to be done about it but wipe up and go back to sleep. But it was the first time that Pippin had come onto Merry rather than into the sheets. Merry sleepily wondered if his being so close had had anything to do with it, and his cock rose a bit at the thought, tingling pleasantly. "Oh, go back to sleep," he said to it, and rolled onto his belly.

"Merry!"

He grunted unhappily. "I didn't even get back to sleep. Let me sleep," he pleaded. "Go away." He pulled the blankets over his head. The inside of his eyelids felt like scratchy linen.

"The snow is up to the windows! Sam's trying to find a shovel, but he thinks Frodo put them all in the tool shed after harvest. He's really angry but he's trying not to show it." Pippin jumped onto the bed and shook Merry's shoulder. "Come on! Breakfast is almost ready!"

"What time is it?" Merry pulled the blankets down and rubbed his hands over his face. He realized he must have slept, after all, and brightened a bit at the prospect of breakfast. Pippin smiled so cheerily at him that he smiled, too, just to see it.

"Half nine," Pippin answered, then jumped full length onto Merry, earning a startled "Oomph." He grinned into Merry's irate eyes. "You have to pee, anyway," he laughed, and slid off the bed to run back to the hall toward the smell of bacon frying.

Merry cursed the male phenomenon of the morning erection and sat up, swinging his legs off the bed and stretching. He used the privy, which solved his immediate concern, and padded slowly back to get dressed.

The kitchen was bustling and warm when he finally made his way back down the hall. Sam was volubly concerned about the lack of an accessible shovel. Frodo was simultaneously placating Sam and scolding Pippin for stealing bacon off the platter before it was served.

"Good morning, lazybones," Frodo greeted Merry. "Quit." He smacked Pippin's hand, and Pippin stuck his tongue out at him. "I think you've already eaten your share, young Master Took."

"Haven't," Pippin returned. "I've eaten Sam's share."

Sam frowned so sincerely that Frodo felt the need to pat his shoulder reassuringly. "He's kidding, Sam." With his other hand he gently cuffed Pippin to the head.

With Merry present, Frodo pronounced that breakfast could be served, and conversation was kept to a minimum while plates were filled and emptied, and filled and emptied again. Despite Pippin's petty thievery and Sam's unease, there was, in fact, more than enough bacon, and a few strips were left on the platter when they were well and properly full.

"Where did you go when the storm got bad, Sam?" Pippin asked, tapping his fingers on the bacon platter. "You weren't in your bed and I was worried." He took a piece of the bacon. "Wasn't I, Merry?"

Sam flushed pink and Frodo was suddenly very interested in the contents of his teacup. "He was, um," Frodo began.

"He was safe and warm and snug," Merry answered for Sam, "or he wouldn't be here now wondering when you'll burst from all the bacon you've eaten." He looked thoughtfully as his younger cousin, realizing suddenly that he now had to look over rather than down, and smiled at the lad's tousled appearance and open-eyed curiosity. Merry sighed, then pinched Pippin's cheek. "Go have a bath, goose, you're a mess."

Pippin frowned, aware that the mood had changed. But Merry smiled again, and so then did Pippin. "All right," he agreed, and snatched a thick slice of bread from the table before scooting off toward the bathrooms.

"Sorry, Sam," Merry said, turning back to him and Frodo. "He's young, still."

"Not so very young," Frodo answered, lifting his cup. He smiled at Sam, who smiled gently back. "Not anymore. I think he knew what he was asking."

Merry knew Pippin wasn't a small child anymore, was awakening to adulthood, as were his dreams, and soon that very awakening would complicate their lives more than Pippin was ready to understand. It pained Merry to think of his own Pippin burgeoning on chasing girls into dark cellars of a warm night and stealing kisses, trying to find out how far he could go before she'd shove him away. Merry shook his head to clear it, then picked up an apple and bit viciously into it. "I hope not," he answered lamely.

Sam stood and began to clear the dishes, shaking off Frodo's protestations that he should take his ease with them. "Washing up don't seem to do itself, and that's a fact," he stated firmly, and carried the soiled plates to the sink. "I can't do naught else in this snow when we've got no shovel." He glowered at Frodo and turned his attentions to scraping the leavings into the slop bucket by the door.

Frodo sighed and picked up the dishes Sam couldn't carry in one trip, setting them next to the sink. "Sam, we haven't had a snow like this for years. I was just trying to clear room for those good fat carrots you brought in before Harvest end. I didn't know we'd need that big shovel."

"You could've asked your Sam, Mr. Frodo, beggin' your pardon. That shovel wasn't taking up that much space, and you needn't have…mmmph." Frodo had kissed him to forestall more scolding.

Merry discreetly left the kitchen and went to check on Pippin's progress with his bath. He listened at the door, and heard rhythmic splashing and contented humming. When he knocked, both sounds abruptly ceased. "Pip? Are you all right?"

"Yes," came the reply. "You're not coming in, are you?"

"No," Merry answered. "Should I?"

"No!" Pippin said quickly. "I'm fine."

"Don't make a mess of Frodo's floor," Merry warned.

"I won't," Pippin said, then waited in stillness for Merry to walk away.

Merry did, with a sigh, and decided to have a short post-first-breakfast, pre-second-breakfast nap.

** **

What Pippin had wanted to do was to jump out the drawing room window into the snow bank below. What he was persuaded to do instead was to sit in the dining room window with his feet in the snow and throw snowballs at the trees and the few shrubs that could be seen above the high drifts. Frodo assisted, and every now and again "accidentally" dropped tiny embryos of snowballs into Pippin's hair and collar. This resulted in flurries of loose snow in Frodo's direction until Pippin felt properly avenged.

Merry and Sam contented themselves with full pipes by the fire, feet propped onto the hearth, neither feeling the need to speak much. Sam would mutter and shift in his chair when the snow flew onto his clean dining room floor, but otherwise stayed put.

Until Frodo, quiet as only a hobbit sneaking up on another can be, dropped a fist-sized snowball down the back of Sam's shirt.

It was the roar from the other chair that alerted Merry, and he scrambled out of the way lest he be confused with the real perpetrator.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam shouted, red-faced; he jumped to his feet and tried to reach around to the offending lump in his shirt. "I'll teach you good, just see if I don't!"

Frodo tried to control his laughter, but only made himself sputter. "It was just a bit of snow! Sam! No!" He backed up toward the kitchen as Sam advanced and nearly tripped over Pippin, who was bent over with giggles in the archway. Merry grabbed Pippin's arm and pulled him out of Sam's way, retreating to a safe distance.

Sam tore off his shirt, retrieved the snowball, and tossed it from hand to hand as he walked toward the now-repentant Frodo.

"Now, now, Sam, it was only a bit of snow, nothing to get so excited about. No real harm done, after all, and …uh-oh." Frodo's eyes went wide: he'd backed into the kitchen wall by the hearth and was effectively trapped.

Sam smiled wickedly and seized his advantage, stuffing the snowball firmly down Frodo's trousers.

"Sam!" Frodo shrieked in disbelief, and shucked his trousers. He quickly picked up what was left of the snowball and mashed it onto Sam's bare chest. Sam grabbed him and hugged the snowball into Frodo's shirt with a satisfied laugh, holding Frodo's hands behind his back.

"Mr. Frodo," Sam said with finality, " I reckon I have you."

"Yes," Frodo said quietly. "I reckon you do, at that." He leaned forward into Sam's embrace and kissed him.

Pippin gasped and clutched Merry's arm. "Merry, did you see.."

Merry clapped his hand over Pippin's gaping mouth. "Yes. Be quiet." He pulled Pippin to the sitting room and shut the door. "We should give them a little privacy."

"But…but…they…" Pippin stammered, eyes wide. "You lied to me!" he burst out. "You lied!"

Merry frowned. "About what?"

"You told me boys couldn't marry boys. You said that, Merry, you did." Pippin sat heavily on the sofa. "I can't believe you lied to me."

"What are you talking about?" Merry's confusion was genuine. He wished Pippin hadn't seen that kiss, but it was Frodo's home, after all. He didn't understand what it was he was accused of lying about. Merry felt a sudden weight on his shoulders and wondered if he'd ever get to be the one asking the questions.

"Well, I guess I know where Sam was last night," Pippin grumbled, and blinked back tears. He looked up at Merry with a pained expression. "Why didn't you just tell me you don't want to marry me when we grow up? You didn't have to lie about it. You just…you just don't want to marry me." Pippin threw himself onto his belly and hid his face in his arms.

"Pippin, I have no idea what..." Comprehension struck: six summers ago, just before Merry's sixteenth birthday, when Pippin had asked as his gift that Merry promise to marry him. Merry had explained that only a lad and a lass could be married, which had made no sense to Pippin, but he'd accepted it because Merry had said it was so. Merry hadn't realized just how deep Pippin's question then had really been.

Merry sighed and sat on the edge of the sofa; he laid a hand on Pippin's back, but the lad shrugged it off. "I'm sorry, Pip. I didn't lie. Come on, turn over so I can talk to you."

"No. You did, too, lie, and you don't love me, so why should I?" His voice was muffled into the upholstery and Merry strained to hear.

"Because you love me," Merry answered. He patted Pippin's shoulder. "And you know I love you. Don't talk nonsense."

Pippin reluctantly sat up, arms crossed tight and knees drawn up to his chest. His nose and cheeks were red and tears pooled in his lashes. He wouldn't meet Merry's eyes.

Merry gently cursed Sam and Frodo under his breath. "I didn't lie to you, Pip. Boys can't get married to boys, or girls to girls. Frodo and Sam can't ever get married."

"Why would Frodo kiss Sam like that, then?" Pippin asked. "I saw Pearl kiss Hugo Smallburrow all sloppy like that once, and they're getting married. Why would Frodo kiss him if they can't get married?"

"Sometimes," Merry said carefully, "whether or no you can get married doesn't matter so much when you love somebody enough. Sometimes all you need is each other."

"Does Frodo love Sam like that?" Pippin asked.

"Well, I think he…" Merry pulled in a deep breath. "Yes. He does."

"Does Sam love Frodo like that?"

Merry smiled, remembering a few drunken conversations with the Bag End gardener, before Frodo had declared himself. "Oh, yes."

Pippin locked gazes with Merry. "Do you love me like that?"

Merry startled. "Well, Pip, you're just a child, still, really, and I hadn't actually thought about that." It was lame and a lie and he knew it, and it made him blush.

"Because I love you, Merry. I surely do. Just like that."

"That's different, Pip," Merry answered swiftly. "Sam and Frodo are adults, they can love each other, like…like that."

"Sam's not a grownup. He's only a tweener."

"Sam's old enough to love somebody, Pippin. You're not."

"Why not? When will I be old enough?" Pippin set his jaw in determination. "When will I be old enough that you could love me back, Merry?"

Merry had no answer: no glib response, no joke to lighten the air, no standard statement to pull out when called for. He looked at Pippin, powerless. "I don't know, Pip," he said in frustration. "Maybe when you're older, you won't love me like that, maybe you'll love a lass, or maybe another lad, or, ah, Pippin, I don't know!" He flopped against the sofa back and threw up his hands.

Pippin struggled to control himself. Merry could see his lip quiver and fresh tears begin to form. "Tell me the truth, Merry," he said, his voice catching. "I won't ever be old enough, will I, because you don't love me that way, and you never will." He closed his eyes tight and pounded his fists against his knees. "You never will."

"Ah, Pip," Merry repeated, and reached to touch Pippin's hand.

"No." Pippin stood up quickly, stumbling, and opened the door. "I don't want to see you just now." He disappeared into the hallway; Merry could hear him cough back tears as he ran.

"Muck," Merry swore. "Pippin!" Pippin was nowhere to be seen in the hallway. Merry hoped he'd gone to his room and not run outside into the snow.

He found Frodo neatly and freshly dressed, seated by the main hearth. "Where did he go?"

Frodo smiled apologetically and gestured toward the guestrooms with the stem of his pipe. Merry sighed in relief and smacked Frodo's head as he passed.

Merry knocked on Pippin's door. He could hear muffled weeping through it, and his heart squeezed tight. "Pippin. Please, open the door." He leaned his forehead against the warm wood. "Please, Pip."

Something heavy and very solid hit the door from the inside, and Merry jumped back in surprise. "Let me in so I can explain."

Another object produced a solid smack and rustled as it slid down. Merry winced and wondered which book it was, hoping it wasn't damaged. "I just want to talk to you."

A pottery-smashing crash answered him. "Don't throw anything else!" Merry exclaimed in alarm. "I'll leave you alone." He turned away, then reconsidered. "Are you coming out for tea?" The reply was a pillowy thump. "I'll bring you a tray, and leave it outside the door." He braced himself, but no more thuds, thumps, or crashes were forthcoming. Merry laid his hand flat on the door, waiting, then sighed and went back to the fireside.

He sat heavily in the wooden chair next to Frodo and stretched his feet out near the fire, taking his pipe from his pocket. Frodo wordlessly handed him a weed pouch, and he wordlessly accepted it.

"Where's Sam?" Merry asked when his pipe was nearly done. He settled the bowl in his palm to feel the warmth through his fingers.

"He's trying to find something to make a shovel," Frodo answered with an embarrassed smile. "I'm sure he's convinced I'm an idiot, clearing the house of useful things to make room for a sack of carrots."

"I'm sure he's convinced he needs to stay by you to take care of you," Merry said. "Because you haven't the hobbit sense even Pippin has, and that's saying something, cousin."

Frodo turned his head to look at Merry. "I'm sorry that kiss upset Pippin so. I forgot myself." His eyes shone in the firelight. "All I could see was Sam."

Merry frowned, envious of the glow in Frodo's eyes as he thought of his love, and shook his head. "That's not really what upset him," he admitted. "No one expects you to play the pretender in your own home, Frodo. Pippin would have figured it out sooner or later."

"Why was he so distraught, then?"

Merry began to tell, then hesitated. Neither he nor Pippin had spoken of it before today, not since that perfect summer day so long ago. Vinca would frown and snap at Merry when she thought he was being too affectionate with her brother, but she hadn't ever said anything directly to Merry about it. He wasn't sure he should speak of it to Frodo.

But Frodo's expression was of real concern, and he'd never betrayed a confidence, not even when Bilbo had almost whipped him for not telling that Merry was hiding in the grain cellar, when a twelve-year-old Merry had run away from Brandy Hall to make his way to the Smials and Pippin.

"Can't you tell me? He wouldn't even look at me when he ran through."

Merry tamped out his cooling pipe. "A few summers ago, right before my birthday, Pippin asked as his present from me that I promise to marry him." He folded his hands on his lap and waited for Frodo's reaction.

"What?" Frodo laughed, then realized Merry wasn't joking. "What did you tell him?"

Merry shrugged. "I told him that boys can't marry each other. Vinca was there, too, and she got really upset and made him cry." He leaned his head against the chair back. "He was very serious, Frodo, and the only reason he let go of the idea was that I told him he'd understand it when he was older."

"So now he's older."

Merry nodded. "When he saw you and Sam kiss, he thought I'd lied to him, and he wouldn't let me explain. Then he wanted to know if I love him like you love Sam, and I didn't tell him what he wanted to hear. So now he's barricaded in his room."

Frodo nodded thoughtfully. "I'm not too surprised, Merry, really. He's been in love with you since he could breathe. He told Sam this morning that he'd curl up and die a lonely death if you ever got married. To someone else," he added with a smile. "I suppose if we found some way you could marry him, he'd live a mite longer."

"Hrmph," Merry answered sullenly.

"The way he looks at you is the same way Sam looks at me when he thinks nobody can see." Frodo twirled his pipe in his hands. "It's the same way you look at him, Merry. Just the same. Most people live their entire lives without getting that look, from anyone, ever, and here we sit so blessed we can't even trust it."

"Mr. Frodo! Have you an idea where there would be twine? I found a plank board that might be sturdy enough." Sam entered the room and stopped, taking in the serious faces at the hearth. "Is something wrong? Is Mr. Pippin all right?" He blushed furiously and cast his eyes to the wood in his hands. "We didn't mean no harm," he muttered.

"Sam," Frodo said with a loving smile, "everything is fine. But I have no idea where twine could be. Except the tool shed," he added with a blush. "I shall never move so much as a dust mote ever again without consulting you."

"Well, we'd all be better off, and no mistake," Sam agreed, and returned Frodo's smile. "But that won't get us dug out any sooner. What I need is to get to the tool shed, then I can make a path from the door right proper."

Frodo stood and stretched. "I'll help you look in the cellars. I'm sure we have something useful hidden away somewhere." He leaned down and kissed Merry's cheek. "All he asked for is what he already has, after all. Come on, Sam, there has to be a potato bag we can tear up for twine."

Merry sat gazing into the fire for some time, getting up only to add a log or poke at the embers to raise the flames again. He could hear Frodo and Sam talking and moving things around in the cellars. The talking turned to quiet laughter, then to whispers, and finally he heard the door to Frodo's bedroom open and close with a gentle snick of the latch. It would be dark soon, too dark to try to clear a path, even if they had still been trying to find pieces for a makeshift shovel. They were all shut in snug for the long cold night.

The thought of sleeping all alone in that night made his skin hurt.

He loved Pippin, of course he did. Merry couldn't even remember much of his first eight years, before Pippin was born, but he clearly remembered his first sight of a tiny infant, wailing with the might of the Bullroarer himself, but quieting at the sound of Merry's voice, and lying content in his arms. If he thought back on it enough, Merry knew he'd be able to recall every minute he'd spent with his cousin since then: all the games played, all the butterflies caught and carefully let go, all the apples stolen off trees in other hobbits' gardens, all the bruises and bumps and illnesses and lame excuses about where they'd gotten to when there was work to be done.

All the times Pippin had smiled up at him with pure love, and trust, and happiness, and Merry had smiled back as if he were a mirror.

He pinched his nose hard to try to stave off tears, but it didn't work, and he scrabbled around in his pockets for a handkerchief. Once he'd blown his nose and dried his eyes, he realized it was past time for tea, he was hungry, and he'd promised Pippin a tray. With an enormous sigh, he heaved himself out of the chair and pattered into the kitchen.

He quickly found what he needed, including some of the thick, heavy carrots that had caused so much trouble, and loaded a tray to overflowing. It was so heavy that he had to knock on Pippin's door with his heel. "I brought you something to eat."

The silence that answered him made his heart as heavy as the tea tray. "Well, then. I'll leave it here, by the door." Merry bent down carefully and set the tray on the floor, plates and cups rattling, then straightened. He watched the door for a moment, hoping, then turned toward the kitchen.

"Merry." The door opened a few inches.

"Yes, Pip?" Merry spun on his heels and nearly stumbled.

Pippin opened the door and stood awkwardly, hands stuffed in his trouser pockets, cheeks red and eyes damp. "We could share." He picked up the tray and smiled shyly.

"I'd like that." Merry followed Pippin into the room, closing the door behind him.

As was typical of Bag End guestrooms, this one contained a small, two-seat sofa tucked up against one wall, with a low table in front of it. Pippin set the tray on the table and settled onto the sofa, feet under his rump. There was no evidence of his earlier volleys: everything thrown had been neatly put away and whatever crockery had been smashed was swept up and gone.

They sat in silence for a minute, then Pippin dove into the food on the tray.

"I'm sorry I hurt your feelings," Merry said when they were done, and sat back. "I didn't know what to say that would be right."

"Maybe you could have told me what was true, instead." Pippin tore a roll into pieces. "I'm not a baby, Merry. You don't need to talk to me like you're my Da."

"After that temper tantrum before?" Merry countered. "Throwing things at a door because I'm on the other side of it?"

Pippin looked properly abashed, but raised his chin and met Merry's gaze. "I'm sorry," he said. "But you broke my heart, and I didn't know what else to do." His voice cracked at the end of the sentence, and he closed his eyes and fought for control of his expression. "But it's all right, Merry, it is, because I understand. I really do. You don't have to love me back, you don't, don't..." He lost his composure, hand over his mouth, eyes squeezed tight shut to hold back the tears.

"Pippin, you understand nothing," Merry said. "Nothing at all." He pulled Pippin over, wrapping his arms firmly around shaking shoulders. Pippin tucked his head between Merry's neck and shoulder, and released his sobs, clutching Merry's tunic with a desperate grip.

"Hush, little goose," Merry soothed, rocking gently. "Sshh. I've got you." He rested his cheek on Pippin's hair and pressed a secret kiss into the soft brown curls. "I've got you."

Pippin coughed on the tears and mucus flooding his nose and throat and drew in a deep shuddering breath. He dried his face on his sleeve and searched his pockets for his handkerchief, sitting up to extract it from his hip pocket where it had been pressed against Merry's side. He blew his nose loudly and wetly, then fell with a thump back into Merry's embrace.

"Oof," Merry said. "Are we done with the tears for awhile? I need you to listen to me."

Pippin nodded; his hair tickled Merry's chin. He settled into Merry's warmth and waited.

Now that he had Pippin's full attention, he was at a loss. He walked a very fragile, very fine line, and he knew it. There was no doubt in Merry's mind that Pippin was far too young for the kind of relationship that Frodo and Sam had. Merry would be taking unforgivable advantage of the lad's devotion to act otherwise, or to promise the future to him. But Merry just then couldn't imagine any future at all without Pippin at his side, and he hugged him tight with a sigh. "I love you, Pippin."

Then Merry nudged Pippin off his shoulder, tipped his head back, and kissed him.

It was a soft, sweet kiss, just enough to tell Pippin of Merry's love, and no more; it lasted only as long as it took Pippin to realize that it had happened. When Merry pulled back, gazing into Pippin's wide, startled eyes, Pippin said "Oh" with a little gasp and laid his head back on Merry's shoulder. "Oh."

"Don't you ever doubt or forget again that I love you, Peregrin Took," Merry said fiercely. "Ever. Understand?"

Pippin nodded, and raised his head to speak; Merry shushed him with a raised finger. Pippin bit his lip and frowned, but laid his head back on Merry's shoulder and quieted.

Merry took a deep breath. "But you're too young to even really understand what it is you're asking me for."

"I am not, I'm…" Pippin remembered he was to listen and stopped himself.

"Yes, you are, and we're not arguing over it," Merry stated with finality. "And I can't tell you when you will be old enough, or that I'll wait for you to be old enough."

Pippin shifted unhappily but said nothing.

"Lookit, I'm not trying to be your Da, or some old gaffer telling you what it was about when I was your age. And I'm not going to tell you that your feelings aren't right somehow, or that you shouldn't want what you want." He pulled Pippin a little closer. "But you've got years still until your heart and your mind decide on what you'll want for your life, and you may find out that it isn't me. No, now, hush up."

Pippin rubbed his eyes with his fist and stifled his pained protestations; Merry could feel the tension in the boy's shoulders.

"I won't have you shutting your heart against anyone else who tries to get in because you decided on something before you even knew what it was." Merry knew then what he must do, and closed his eyes, feeling them sting with bitter tears. "So I think, Pip, it would be best if I take you back home to the Tookland once the snow has cleared, and I go home to Brandy Hall by myself. Then I want you to steal kisses from lots of lasses, and some lads, too, and in the summer we'll meet up in Farmer Maggot's cabbage patch and you can tell me all about it."

Merry felt the air leave Pippin's lungs with a whoosh and his forehead felt cold and damp against Merry's neck.

"What are you saying?" Pippin gasped. "Please tell me you're not saying this."

"I think that's what would be best for you, Pippin." Merry set his mind hard against his own flood of emotion.

Pippin tore himself from Merry's arms and sat up, eyes wet and raging like the Brandywine in a thunderstorm. "You're sending me away. You say you love me, and you kiss me, my first kiss, ever, ever, and then you tell me you're leaving me." His face contorted as if he was going to cry, but he clenched his jaw and his eyes flashed. "Don't tell me there's nothing wrong with the way I feel, then push me away because I feel it." Pippin shoved Merry hard, sending him into the sofa arm with a thwack. "I won't go. I won't. Take me home to my sisters and I'll be on your doorstep with the week." Pippin crossed his arms, defiant, and Merry's heart thumped hard in his chest. "I didn't decide on anything, Meriadoc Brandybuck, it just is. I could kiss half the Shire and it wouldn't make any difference."

"You don't know that," Merry said, straightening himself. "I'm taking you home so you can find out without me hanging over your shoulder." He tried to smile in reassurance, but it didn't work. "It'll be fine, Pip, you'll see. Lots of folk your age in Tuckborough. You won't even miss me."

"Why are you doing this?" Pippin asked in quiet anguish.

"So you can find out what your heart truly wants, without me around to clutter it up." Merry had to close his eyes for a moment: the sight of Pippin hurt and angry and confused was more than Merry's own heart could take. He stood and went to the door, leaving the room quickly before he changed his mind.

His own room was only a few steps away, and he threw himself face down onto the bed and allowed himself to cry, but only a little. He needed to toughen up so he could convince Pippin over the next couple of days that going home was a grand idea for them both.

Merry would have to convince himself as well. He and Pippin had never been separated for more than a week or so, and once Pippin had learned his letters those separations were broken by the rambling, diary-like missives that Pippin sent him nearly every day. Merry didn't suppose that Pippin would want to write to him this time.

Merry curled himself around his pillows and wondered if he'd ever felt so wretched. Pippin had to go, for his own sake, he resolved, and for Merry's. Pippin's growing body was beginning to have its effect on Merry's own body and thoughts and feelings. Merry never wanted to have it on his conscience that he'd been so selfish as to keep Pippin from exploring and playing and finding out on his own what he wanted, even if he thought he already knew, because of Merry's jealousy and possessiveness.

Merry had a good idea of what it was that he wanted. He'd gotten a proper share of furtive kissing and awkward fumbling in the cellars of Brandy Hall, and experimental masturbation with the other lads at the edge of the Old Forest of a dark night. He had even lain with a lass, just this last midsummer, under a starlit sky. He was grateful to her for sharing herself and showing him what to do and not laughing when he cried so, after. Merry hadn't told her that he'd cried because he had to get well and truly drunk before he could bring himself to touch her, and that he'd had to pretend she was one of those lads at the Forest verge before he could give her what she'd asked of him.

He owed it to Pippin to encourage him to find these things out for himself. Even if, Merry thought with a feeling in his gut like fire, even if Pippin discovered that he didn't want Merry, after all. Even if it meant that Merry would have to close his heart against his own love.

** **

Supper was an uncharacteristically sober affair. Pippin sat next to Frodo, as far away from Merry as he could get while at the same table, and excused himself to his room after washing the dishes with Sam in strained silence.

"That boy's gone all queer," Sam said with a frown, and stopped just short of glaring at Merry. "He chattered like a magpie all morning, and now all I get is grunts." Sam sat on the sitting room sofa next to Frodo, and considered Merry, who had ensconced himself in the overstuffed armchair nearer the fire. "He acted like he lost his best friend."

"Did he?" Frodo asked Merry, settling against Sam's sturdy shoulder. Sam discreetly slipped his arm around Frodo and pulled him a bit closer.

Merry filled his pipe carefully and lit it, then puffed several times before he answered. "I'm taking him to Tuckborough when the snow clears, then I'm going to Brandy Hall." He crossed his ankles and slumped down into the chair. "Alone."

"Whyever for?" Frodo asked, leaning forward in surprise.

Merry shifted unhappily. "I think Pippin needs to do some growing up without me complicating things," he answered dully. "He should be out chasing girls and trying to best the other lads at games. Not following me around waiting to see what trouble I can get him into."

"Merry," Frodo said evenly, returning to Sam's shoulder, "that's the daftest thing I ever heard."

Merry smiled ruefully around the mouthpiece of his pipe. "Probably so. But that doesn't change it. I can't have him hating me in ten years because I… " He stopped, sighing, and clenched his jaw.

"That's quite selfish of you," Frodo said.

"Selfish?" Merry turned to Frodo. "How is that selfish? This is for his good, not mine. I wouldn't do this if I were selfish." He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. "If I were selfish I'd never let him out of my sight."

"But if you take him home and leave him and he comes back to you still looking up at you like you're the sun and the moon and the stars," Frodo answered, "you'll not have to worry about him breaking your heart when he's grown enough to truly give you his own."

Merry didn't answer, but turned back to gazing at the fire, puffing a small cloud and blowing it toward the hearth.

"I might have a penny's worth to offer, Mr. Merry, if I might be so bold, and beggin' your pardon."

Merry nodded, wondering if Sam would ever stop apologizing for having ideas.

"Sending the boy away because he has feelings for you is only going to make him believe he ain't got a right to those feelings, that he himself ain't right, somehow. Like he's being punished just for loving you and being honest about it." Sam paused thoughtfully. "And it seems as though you're wanting to punish yourself for loving him right back."

Merry sighed and rubbed his face wearily. "Maybe I do. He's starting to grow up, and I just don't want to hurt him."

"Then don't." Frodo smiled softly at Sam. "Not everyone needs to look around to see what he really wants. Sometimes it's right there if you open your eyes."

Merry snorted. "What faery story did you get that from?"

"My very own," Frodo answered. He exchanged a fond glance with Sam and stood, stretching; Sam yawned his way to his feet and pattered past Merry to the hallway with a simple "Good night, Mr. Merry" over his shoulder.

"He's so young, Frodo, so very young," Merry sighed. "Just a child, still."

"Yes, he is," Frodo replied. "But he won't always be. And I think you can trust yourself to not take advantage of him. The real question is, do you want him to grow up beside you, knowing you love him? Or exiled with his sisters, believing you've rejected him?" He patted Merry's shoulder. "Sam's waiting. Good night, cousin."

"Good night," Merry answered, and tamped out his pipe. He checked the fireplaces in the kitchen, raking the ashes, then put out the fire in the main hearth. The darkness fell over him like a warm blanket on a hot summer's night, heavy and uncomfortable. He lit a candle with a match from the embers and followed its light to the bedrooms. The rustling and soft voices he heard in the master bedroom made his heart ache, knowing he was going to his own cold bed alone.

Merry knocked on Pippin's door. "Good night, Pip." He got no response, and hadn't expected one, but suddenly needed reassurance. "Pippin. Answer me." The continued silence angered him because it made him afraid. "Lookit, Pippin Took, answer me so I know you're all right, or I'm coming in there, lock or no."

"Good night, Meriadoc Brandybuck," Pippin answered formally. "Muck off."

Merry smiled in spite of the insult. "Sleep well," he responded, and went to his own bed.

** **

When he awoke, hours later, he wasn't sure for a few moments where he was. Brandy Hall, last spring, that must be it, because it was dead dark and he was alone.

He was alone.

Merry sat bolt upright and patted the empty pillows next to his own. Even when he went to bed unaccompanied, he seldom woke up by himself: Pippin usually found some excuse to crawl in next to Merry before daylight, or called out for Merry in his sleep and wouldn't quiet until Merry lay down next to him.

He ran his hands through his hair and tried to wake up further to think. Pippin had gone to bed angry and hurt with him, but that didn't mean much. They'd had rows before and still he'd find Pippin tangled in the blankets next to him in the morning. Merry wasn't even sure it was morning.

But something wasn't right, he could feel it, and he jumped off the bed and pulled on his robe. He found his way in the dark and knocked on Pippin's door. "Pip? Are you all right?"

Merry heard nothing, not even snoring, and knocked again. He tried the knob, and the door opened easily. Merry sat on the bed and felt for Pippin's solid warmth on the pillows. His hands swept over empty bedding.

He swore loudly and quickly found a candle on the dresser, lighting it with a match from the mantel. Pippin was not in the room, anywhere, and Merry trotted back to the hallway to search the other rooms.

He got through half the cellars before he started to panic.

"Frodo!" He didn't bother to knock, and the door to the master bedroom swung open wide when he pushed it. He blinked at the pre-dawn light coming through the drawn curtains.

Sam sat up, instantly alert. "What's the matter?"

"Pippin's gone." Now that he'd said it aloud, his frightened tears got the better of him, and he dragged his sleeve over his eyes. "I looked everywhere, even in the closets, Sam, he's gone."

Frodo stirred, rolling over slowly, and reached for Sam, who had stood and begun to dress. "What's going on?" He saw Merry's anguished face and startled fully awake.

"Mr. Pippin's gone missing," Sam explained, buttoning his trousers. "Get some warm clothes on, the both of you. If he's not in the house, he's had to have gone out in the snow." He shrugged his heavy weskit over his shirt. "…blasted shovel when I need one…" he muttered, heading for the front hall.

Merry wasted no time, and when he was dressed he pulled an extra coat on over his own to wrap around Pippin if they found him. When they found him, he corrected himself.

Sam waited for him beside the front door, shivering; he had snow on his shoulders and in his hair. "He took that board I found and dug his way out at least to the gate," he reported. "I didn't go no further, but the path does. I couldn't see how far. Not enough light out yet."

Frodo ran up to them with a long woolly scarf and a blanket tucked under his arm. "We can't wait until sunrise," he said. "He'll freeze to death by then, if he hasn't been out all night anyway."

"Digging with that sorry board would keep him warm, least 'til he got to where he was headed." Sam opened the door and ushered the others outside, then patted Merry's back solidly. "Don't take on so, Mr. Merry, we'll find him."

"Pippin!" Merry shouted, and was startled by how high and shaky his voice sounded. "Pip!"

Sam led the way down the rough, narrow path Pippin had somehow managed to create, and hushed Merry. "If he's meaning to hide, you're just telling him to run opposite where your voice is."

Merry nodded, teeth chattering from the cold and his overwhelming fear, and hugged his arms to himself miserably.

"Ah, here's why I couldn't see no further," Sam said quietly. "Changed his mind and went off to the right." He raised his hand as he turned so they could see him over the snow. "Ha," he said with satisfaction. "Straight to the tool shed."

"Why would he go there?" Frodo mused aloud. "To hide, or get a shovel to go further?"

"Reckon we'll find out in a minute." Sam turned to Merry with a smile and took his hand, squeezing. "Let's go get him. I'm thinking he got tired and stopped here. Don't see naught but smooth snow beyond the shed."

Merry squeezed past Sam and ran to the shed door; he pushed, but it was locked from the inside. "Pippin! Pippin, if you're in there, answer me!" He leaned his ear to the plank door. "Hoy! Pip!" When he got no response, he pounded so hard on the door that the frame rattled. "Pippin!" he shouted desperately.

"Go away," came a small, quavering voice from inside the shed.

"Peregrin Took, get your arse out of my tool shed now," Frodo commanded, standing behind Merry. "If you're after scaring the life out of us, you've done it, and the game's over. Come out."

"No. I won't. I won't go back to Tuckborough."

"Elbereth," Merry said under his breath. "Come out, so we can talk about it."

"Talked already." They could hear his shivering in his unsteady voice. "I'm not going."

"Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Frodo, but it ain't any warmer in there than out here, and that boy's most likely blue from the cold, if not worse." Sam squared his shoulders. "I could break that door down, with a little help."

"Do it," Frodo answered grimly.

"I'll throw myself hard against the latch, right here, and you and Mr. Merry push real hard on the middle of the door." Sam braced himself. "Now."

The first try loosened the door, but the lock held; the second broke the hasp and the door fell open, spilling Frodo, Sam, and Merry onto the frozen dirt floor.

Merry jumped to his feet and found Pippin huddling on a stack of burlap sacks in the corner, covered only in his nightshirt, trousers, and a light cape. His lips were blue from the cold and every muscle quaked.

"I'm not going," Pippin said, and turned away from him.

"Shut up," Merry growled, and tugged the extra coat over the lad. He took the scarf from Frodo, tied it around Pippin's cold face, and wrapped him in the blanket. "Don't you say another cursed word." He picked Pippin up roughly with a grunt and stomped down the makeshift snow path to Bag End's front door.

None of the fires were lit, and the front rooms of the house were cold. Merry took Pippin to his bedroom, warmer because of the insulation of the hill around it, and tossed him onto the bed. "Get under the blankets."

Pippin still shivered, teeth chattering loudly, and when he didn't move to obey, Merry pulled the covers forcefully around him with firm tucks at the sides. "Stay put." He turned his back and began a fire, and didn't move as the flames roared toward the flue.

"I've got tea, and Sam's coming with a basin of hot water for your feet," Frodo told Pippin as he came in bearing a tray. He took in Pippin's sullen passivity and Merry's determined gaze into the fire. "What else can I do for you, Pippin?" He set the tray on the nightstand.

Pippin shook his head, no longer shivering so hard. "Nothing."

"Give him a kick to the backside," Merry muttered, and stood. He pushed the little sofa until it faced the hearth. "Get over here, Pip."

"Can't," Pippin answered, turning his face away from them. "My feet hurt too much."

Merry and Frodo looked at each other in alarm. "I'll hurry Sam with that water," Frodo said, and scurried to the kitchen.

Pippin didn't protest when Merry gathered him up again, more gently this time, and settled him on the sofa in front of the blazing fire. Merry warmed his hands near the flames, then sat on the floor in front of Pippin and took Pippin's feet into his lap. They were cold, and the toes were stiff and white. Merry began rubbing, beginning with the left foot; he tucked the other under his arm to warm it.

"Ow." Pippin winced, digging his clenched fists into the blankets. "That hurts. Really bad." He closed his eyes tight, grimacing.

"Good," Merry answered gruffly. "That means you might heal. Stop wiggling." He chafed the foot hard with both hands, and was gratified to see some pink coloring return to the toes. Merry switched feet just as Sam bustled in with the basin of steaming water, and he stood to make room, then guided Pippin's feet into the water, slowly and carefully. Pippin flinched and cried out but didn't struggle.

"Thank you, Sam," Merry said, and patted Sam's back. He reconsidered and pulled him into a hug. "Thank you," he repeated, and hoped Sam realized how deep his gratitude was.

"O'course," Sam replied shyly, then stepped back with a blush. "You all right there, Mr. Pippin?" He bent to look at the lad, but could see nothing under the cocoon of blanket and coat. "All right. I suppose I should be thankful to you for digging that path, but I wish you hadn't, all the same. You scared the wits out of us, and no mistake." He laid a hand on Pippin's bowed head. "Mr. Merry especially. You shouldn't ought to frighten him so." With a gentle pat to the lad's head, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Merry sat on the sofa beside Pippin and fished a chilled hand out of the blankets, rubbing it with his fingers and thumbs. "What did you think you were doing?" he asked as calmly as he could. Even with the immediate crisis passed, Merry still felt frightened and shaky, and more than a little angry.

"I'm not going back home."

"So you've told us," Merry replied irritably. "I suppose freezing to death seemed a good way to make that happen, then?" He clenched his jaw. "Except, Pip, you would have gone home all the same, in a box, and slept alone forever. Is that what you wanted?"

"Stop it." Pippin pulled his hand away and covered his face with the blanket. "Shut up."

"No," Merry replied. "No, I won't, because you scared five years' growth out of me and I don't understand. Were you running away from me?"

Pippin shook his head; Merry could see brown curls poking through the gaps in the blankets.

"Then what?" Merry raised his voice in frustration and pulled the blanket down, grasping Pippin's chin and turning his face so Merry could see him. The lad's nose and cheeks were red, but the dampness in his eyes and on his cheeks told Merry that it wasn't from the cold.

"You're going to leave me," Pippin said with difficulty. "You're going to take me to my sisters and leave me, just because I love you, and now it's because I'm an addlepated troublemaker, and more bother than I'm worth, and you shouldn't love me, Merry, you shouldn't." He rubbed ferociously at his eyes and nose.

"You always have been an addlepated troublemaker," Merry said gently. "I don't see as this changes anything. And it doesn't explain anything, either." He released Pippin's chin. "Tell me."

Pippin pulled the blanket closer. "I was going to hide for few days, then head out to Buckland," he said reluctantly. "By the time you figured out where I was, it'd be too much trouble to take me home, and then I could stay with you."

Merry's jaw dropped. "And you didn't notice the snow piled over your fool head?"

Pippin straightened his shoulders proudly. "I dug that path to the shed, didn't I, with just a piece of wood. Took me all night." He sagged against the sofa back. "I was going to get that snow shovel Sam wanted and get onto the road before you saw I was gone, but I was cold, and wet, and tired, so I locked the door and laid down to sleep for a bit."

Merry trembled in his understanding. "If I hadn't woken up, knowing you were missing somehow, you never would have gotten up again." He took a deep breath. "Pippin, I'm so sorry."

"Why should you be sorry?" Pippin swished his feet in the water. "You didn't do anything wrong, I did."

"I did something bad wrong," Merry answered. "I pushed you away. I told you I love you, I kissed you, and then I told you it was wrong. But I was wrong to do that, Pip. I was wrong. Not you."

"Maybe it is wrong," Pippin said tentatively. "Maybe if we can't ever get married, or even Frodo and Sam, it's because it's bad for two lads to love each other." He fingered the hem of the blanket. "Else, why would Vinca always get so mad and beat me when I say I love you?"

"What?" Merry was appalled. He knew Pervinca was annoyed that Pippin was seldom seen without Merry, and told Merry sometimes that he was too close to her brother, but he didn't know she felt this strongly about it, or thrashed Pippin because of it. He felt his heart break, knowing Vinca wasn't his friend anymore, after all those years of confidences and companionship. But even more, he was enraged with her. Merry felt a strong and righteous protectiveness over Pippin. He clenched his jaw and swore to himself that Vinca would never lay another hand on his Pippin again.

Pippin bit his lip, seeing the distress on Merry's face. "Maybe I shouldn't love you, Merry, but I do. I can't ever not love you, even if you don't love me."

"Don't ever say that again," Merry interrupted fervently, turning toward Pippin with a jerk. "Never again, do you hear me? I do love you. I have always loved you. I will always love you." He crossed his arms and fought down tears, suddenly angry at his hobbit nature that made him want to cry every time he was upset. "Especially when you don't deserve it."

"All right, Merry," Pippin answered, eyes wide.

"And I don't care if it's right or wrong or anybody else doesn't like it. It just is." Merry smiled tenderly at his cousin. "I could kiss half the Shire and it wouldn't make any difference."

"Don't do that, Merry," Pippin said, daring to hope: Merry could see it in his eyes, sparkling in the firelight. "I shouldn't like it if you did."

"Neither would I," Merry admitted. "So I guess you can't go around kissing everyone, either, no matter what I said before."

"Wasn't going to anyway." Pippin pondered, looking over at Merry with guarded eyes. "Are you still taking me home when the snow clears?"

"Oh, yes," Merry replied firmly. "I need to knock some sense back into Vinca." His hands balled involuntarily into fists; then he made himself relax for Pippin's sake. "Then we'll go to Brandy Hall, you and me, and see what spring will look like in the Old Forest this year."

Pippin yelped joyfully and jumped into Merry's arms, sending water splashing from the basin onto the sofa and floor, and hugged him so tight that Merry had to push Pippin away a bit to breathe.

"Kiss me again," Pippin pleaded. "So I know you mean it."

Merry raised an eyebrow. "It didn't work the first time. You still thought I didn't love you."

"This time it will work! I promise! Please?" He looked at Merry through his lashes, smiling unreservedly, and Merry's heart flip-flopped against his ribs. Very dangerous, this lad, he thought.

He bent his head and pressed his mouth to Pippin's, no more or less sweetly than before, but he held it a bit longer before releasing him.

Pippin sighed happily and tucked himself into Merry's side. "I love you, too."

Merry smiled into Pippin's hair. "You're still too young for any more than that, understand? We can kiss sometimes, just like that, but that's all until you're old enough." He winced, expecting to be asked again exactly what "old enough" meant.

But instead he got a frown. "What else IS there?" Pippin asked, genuinely puzzled.

Merry tried not to, but laughed anyway, and hugged Pippin closer. "Never you mind, Pip," he answered. "That's enough."

"All right," Pippin replied with a sigh, and tucked his head into Merry's shoulder. "I'm sorry I caused a ruckus."

"I know," Merry said. "You owe Sam and Frodo apologies, too."

"I guess I should help Sam fix the door on the shed."

"Oh, yes."

"Frodo's listening at the door."

"What? Frodo!"

Frodo, laughing, entered the room. "Sam's got breakfast almost ready. Truly, I came to tell you, not to eavesdrop." His blue eyes were the very embodiment of innocence, making Merry laugh, too.

"Breakfast!" Pippin said, and jumped solidly to his feet with a wet thud. His eyes grew very, very wide; he sat down quickly and cradled a foot in his hands. "I shouldn't ought to have done that."

"Get up slowly and walk softly," Merry told him, standing. "You're not in there yet to steal off the platters, so there will still be food left when you arrive."

Pippin made his way gingerly to the door and down the hall, still wrapped in the coat and blanket. "Bacon!" he exclaimed happily, and increased his pace.

"Everything all right?" Frodo asked Merry.

"You tell me," Merry replied. "You were listening at the door."

"I was not," Frodo said indignantly. "Well, all right, I was, but only for a minute." He tapped his foot. "What are you going to do to Vinca?"

"Love her brother until I die," Merry answered, and followed Pippin's path to the kitchen.

@@@ END @@@


End file.
